


Five Times Stephen Ate What Nick Told Him To (and One Time He Didn't)

by kodak123



Category: Primeval
Genre: Fix-It, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-19
Updated: 2014-10-19
Packaged: 2018-02-21 19:25:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2479688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kodak123/pseuds/kodak123
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nick Cutter can actually cook quite well, thank you very much.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Times Stephen Ate What Nick Told Him To (and One Time He Didn't)

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by the amazing [Womgel](https://www.fanfiction.net/u/3707102/Womgel).  
> Cross-posted to [my LiveJournal](http://smudge-seven.livejournal.com/1342.html).

* * *

**One – Cheese, Mushroom and Smoked ham Quiche**

* * *

 Stephen’s first day as the laboratory assistant of Nicholas Angus Cutter, BSc (Hons), MSc, DSc (read: Cutter’s dogs-body) is fairly uneventful. Well, apart from Cutter shredding a colleague’s paper, because “it’s so bloody awful”. And yelling at a grad student for disturbing him when he walked in on Cutter playing golf with an ancient fibula.

But the way Helen Cutter used to talk about Cutter made him think he’d been let off easily. Cutter barely looked at him, except to rant (at which point, Stephen just had to nod in the right places). If he put up with Cutter for a day, would he still have the job at the end of it? Maybe. Perhaps, Cutter ignoring him and not yelling at him meant that Cutter liked him.

So now, only half way through the day, Stephen day-dreams about continued employment under Cutter, for a while: how Cutter will act in tutorials, if he decides to attend them; how he will act in front of the Dean and how he will act in the presence of under-grads. No one will apply to their department for grad school and beyond again. Ever.

He is torn from his reverie by the sound of foil and the smell of something tasty, something savoury. He finds himself drawing closer to the smell coming from Cutter’s desk, creeping a little. He had coffee and more coffee for breakfast. The smell makes his stomach rumble.

Cutter looks up and catches his eye, “Are you hungry, man? Pull up a chair.”

(Stephen thinks of his hastily made sandwiches crushed at the bottom of his bag.)

“Don’t just stand there, Stephen. Pull up a chair.”

And so Stephen does, staring at the great slabs of quiche sitting in a Tupperware box on Cutter’s desk.

Cutter eyes him.

“It smells good.”

“Aye, it’s left-over from last night. I made too much. It’s mushroom, cheese and smoked ham.”

“You made it?”

Cutter laughs, “Yeah – you think Helen’s the type to cook?” He thrusts a heavenly-smelling wedge at Stephen.

“I can’t – it’s your food. I don’t want to—”

“You think I can eat all of this? Go on, man. I can’t have my lab assistant keeling over with hunger.”

And under Nick Cutter’s watchful eye, Stephen digs in. It tastes even better than it smells.

* * *

**Two – Chocolate Cake**

* * *

 

There’s a memorial service for Helen. A small plaque stuck on a church she probably sneered at on her way to teach freshers about Darwinism. A service stuffed full of the upper echelons of the university who all sneered at Helen behind her back. Who now sneer at Cutter, a small figure, lost at sea, drowning in the rain as Stephen tries to get him to leave.

“Cutter,” he says and then says it again, louder and louder. “Nick. Nick. Nick, come on.” He tugs at the pocket of Nick’s black coat, tries to pull him towards the exit. Nick looks down at his hand, staring and then catches Stephen’s fingers in an awkward grip, his hand colder than it should be. Stephen rubs that hand with his other one. Tries to give Nick some of his warmth.

“Nick…” Stephen mutters, but then gives up. He has no words left to give. He heads for the exit, Cutter stumbling behind him, still gripping his hand. He grips back, despite himself.

Once in the car, he throws an old blanket at Cutter to dry himself with, but Cutter just clutches it in his lap and presses his check against the window.

“Pathetic fallacy.”

“Come again?” He’s tempted to snatch the blanket out of Nick’s hands and dry him off himself. He does not need a trip to A&E with Cutter as a hypothermia patient.

“Pathetic fallacy. A term used in literature for when, when…” Nick trails off.

“For when?” The fact that Cutter’s talking is what matters. That Stephen can understand none of it? He’ll deal.

“A term in literature for when the weather reflects the mood of the scene in a play or text.” He’s droning a little, toneless and too quiet.

“I didn’t know you liked literature and books that much.”

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me.” Nick slumps more against the window and stares out into the graveyard.

It stops Stephen short; he’d like to think that, after three years around the man, he does have a pretty good read on who exactly is Nick Cutter. Nick Cutter is his best friend, his boss and an all-round pain-in-the-arse. Nick Cutter is also grieving. So he says nothing and starts the car.

x-x-x-x-x

Stephen sleeps on Cutter’s couch. Of course he does, there’s no way he’s leaving Nick in this state. Plus, there’s a small, irrational part of him that wants to keep the people who matter close, those he’s got left anyway. It’s enough that he ends up watching Cutter sleep, for a stupidly long time. In sleep, Cutter’s face is slack and open; nothing can touch him while he’s asleep.

When he wakes up, it’s a different matter. The living room is flooded with light, it’s clearly late and he can hear the radio and smell baking. Stephen staggers up, fearing, well, something.

In the kitchen, Nick is kneading dough with a certain bitterness. There’s flour on his nose and icing on one cheek. There’s also a chocolate cake cooling on the side and something else in the oven.

He stares and Nick doesn’t see him. Nick kneads the dough; his face is creased in pain and concentration and he doesn’t see him.

“Nick?”

Nick jumps, the dough drops and they both stare at what would’ve been a good banana bread (it says something, maybe how long Stephen has known Nick, that he can recognise what kind of cake that would’ve been just by the dough).

“You’re up, Stephen. I thought I’d do some baking.”

“Okay.” Stephen stands still – Nick looks skittish, like a small animal. “D-D’you want me to stay?”

Nick nods, emphatic, no words. In a burst of motion, he scoops up the dough, chucks it in the bin and turns towards the cupboards, flinging them open.

For breakfast, Stephen eats chocolate cake at Nick Cutter’s (no longer Helen’s too) kitchen table, his elbows in a mixture of flour and baking powder.

Two weeks later, he is still trying to pass on all the cakes and other assorted baked goods to other people. Nick won’t touch any of them.

* * *

**Three – Eggs Over Easy**

* * *

 

When Stephen wakes, the bed is empty. He doesn’t realise at first, hands scrabbling hungrily at the warm spot where Nick was. When he finally opens his eyes, it jars him a little. Nick’s gone, left. But when he moves to sit up, to leave, he freezes in the act of pulling a shirt on. He didn’t imagine Nick like this.

Downstairs, Nick is whistling, and there’s the clinking of crockery.

Nick blushes when he sees Stephen, in yesterday’s jeans and one of Nick’s old T-shirts. “I would’ve, um, stayed in bed.” He rubs the back of his head. He’s awkward, but honest. He’s still Nick.

Stephen raises an eyebrow, but there’s a small smile on his face. Not a huge one, not his typical cocky grin, but it’s a start.

“I wanted to make you breakfast…if you wanted breakfast?”

It’s a good thing Nick’s so cute. “Okay. So, what’re we having?”

“Eggs, bacon, sausages and toast; how d’you want your eggs?”

Stephen rolls with it. “Over easy. I’ll make us coffee, shall I?” On his way towards the mugs, he pecks a kiss on the corner of his mouth. “Good morning,” Stephen says and then pulls back, awaiting a response.

Nick’s eyes crinkle up in response; “Good morning to you too,” he says and kisses Stephen back, a proper good morning kiss.

x-x-x-x-x

Stephen pokes at his eggs. They’re good, but he’s not quite sure they’re exactly what he wants at the moment. Are they a declaration of intent? Nick cooking for him, showing he cares through food?

“Penny for your thoughts?”

“I, uhm, I think it’s gonna rain later?”

Nick rolls his eyes: “I’m not _English_ , man, I don’t need to talk about the weather. Are your eggs alright?”

Stephen looks at Nick, really looks. He sees bed-head, a stained with paint T-shirt and a bit of doubt in his face. Stephen swallows. “What does this mean?” He gestures to the food, to cooking pans, to Nick. He doesn’t want to get this wrong. He doesn’t want to read Nick wrong.

“It means what you want it to mean.”

Nick Cutter has suddenly decided to become deep. Strange. He does have a point though. “I _do_ like the eggs” – and Nick, Stephen maybe even loves Nick, but he’s not saying that now – “And I want you to keep on doing this?”

“Good,” Nick says, suddenly gruff and reaches out and covers Stephen’s hand with his own. Nick has never been that good with emotions. “I’m…glad, Stephen. But eat your eggs; they’ll get cold.”

Stephen rolls his eyes and digs in.

“And we’ll go for a walk later, when you’re done?”

Stephen squeezes Nick’s hand. Nick Cutter, a romantic, who knew?

* * *

**Four – Prawn And Mushroom Risotto**

* * *

 

They were fighting over the only prawn left in the risotto when Connor stumbled in, fedora at a jaunty angle.

“Hello guys,” he says, sniffing: “can I smell food?” He inches closer, looking for all the world like one of the creatures from Abby’s menagerie.

Stephen rolls his eyes, “It’s our lunch, Connor, you should try getting your own.” As he says that, Nick makes a grab for the last prawn and Stephen knocks his fork away with his own. “Who did all the washing up, last night?”

“I made it!”

“I helped. _And_ I did all the washing up.”

“I—”

“I’ll have it!”

“No, Connor!” They chorus as one.

Connor inches closer. “What is it?”

“It’s our dinner from last night. Prawn and mushroom risotto; Nick made it and _I_ helped.”

“And no,” Nick says, “you still can’t have any.”

“Abby won’t let me near the cooker,” Connor looks forlorn, “not after the last time.”

“What happened?” Something to do with fire or explosions, Stephen would guess. Connor has a certain talent for pyrotechnics.

“I, uh, set some stuff on fire. Abby came back from the library and there were fire engines there.”

“I see. Well, that’s your own fault then isn’t it?” Connor looks at them both, his face drooping a little. Stephen snorts; “It’s our lunch, Connor, you need to get your own.”

“Leave us in peace, Temple,” Nick says, his mouth full of rice. He jostles Stephen’s shoulder. “Come on, eat up. It won’t stay warm forever.”

Stephen’s barely eaten a mouthful when the anomaly alert goes off and they’re up again. _Once more unto the breach_ , and all that rubbish.

By the time they make it back from chasing dire wolves in Milton Keynes, Connor - who volunteered to run comms – has polished off the whole lot. Even the last prawn.

* * *

**Five – Peach Pie**

* * *

 

“What is it this time?” Stephen tries to shift up a little, show some visible interest, but his ribs complain and he slumps down, winded.

“It’s tuna pasta bake.” Nick frowns as Stephen tries to breathe and breathe. “I’ll get the nurse.”

“You don’t have—” But Nick’s already gone, leaving behind a foil covered dish.

As far as Stephen can tell, Nick’s routine is this. He gets up in the morning, stops by at the ARC to see how they’re doing locating Helen (not to mention getting rid of Leek’s creature collection), then comes to the hospital, bearing food. He then leaves at noon-ish after harassing Stephen into eating lunch (and barely touching it himself) so Stephen can nap. Nick himself goes home and cooks. He then comes back in, bearing dinner and after they’ve both picked at it enough that Nick’s satisfied, Nick leaves just before visiting hours are over. Nick then goes home and preps more food/dishes to make in the morning to bring in for lunch.

“Have you slept?” He demands, when the nurse has left after checking his ribs.

“What?” Nick says. “Of course I have!”

But he’s a bit slow off the mark; there are circles under his eyes. He probably hasn’t slept in days. Or eaten properly.

Stephen is putting him through this (Stephen locked the door and Nick pulled Stephen’s body out again. He has never owed so much to the British military and their penchant for large guns and good timing). Stephen has to make this right. “Come here, you.” He stretches out an arm.

“But, the food—” Nick glances back at it, but comes, sitting in what is now pretty much his chair.

“You need to sleep, Nick, you’re not sleeping.”

“How can I sleep? I can’t, I…”

Stephen waits.

“Every time I close my eyes you’re there, in that room. And I can’t look. I’m such a coward, such a stupid fool. Stephen.”

Stephen presses Nick’s face to his good shoulder and rests his chin on Nick’s head.

“It was my fault,” Nick mutters.

“What? How?”

“Helen’s my wife. Or was. I should’ve stopped her from doing all this. Then you wouldn’t have had to go in there, and, and, almost die, Stephen! You shouldn’t have had to do that. It should’ve been me!”

“Don’t ever say that,” Stephen hisses, fierce. “Who was it that collected those creatures, hmm?”

“Leek?”

“Yeah, and Helen helped him. That wasn’t your fault. That was theirs. That’s not your fault.” He pokes at Nick until Nick looks him in the eyes. “And I tried to stop the creatures getting out. But, but, what matters, Nick, is that I’m alive. I’m going to stay alive, okay,” he reaches forward and cups Nick’s face with both his hands, the prick of stubble says he hasn’t shaved either. His ribs ache but he ignores them.

“I’m alive and I’m here. And I love you, okay. I’m not going anywhere. You need to sleep, Nick, let someone else keep watch over me, yeah? I’m not going anywhere, I’m here.”

When Nick reaches up for a kiss, desperate, Stephen lets him. The kiss tastes of salt; Stephen’s not quite sure who’s crying, whose cheeks are wet. “I’m here, I’m here,” he murmurs in-between kisses, as Nick clutches at him.

x-x-x-x-x

When Nick comes in a day later, looking better but not the best, Stephen can breathe a little more easily. Not only because he’s glad to see Nick, but now Lester – king of awkward silences and double meanings (with added threats!) - can leave. Finally.

“I thought we agreed you didn’t have to cook every meal,” he frowns at Nick as Lester high-tails it out of there, brief-case in tow.

Nick blushes a little, suddenly shy, and advances with a foil covered pie dish. “I just thought you’d like some peach pie? You said your grandmother made a great one that you really liked. Peaches are out of season, so it’s not the best and then the oven was being a wee shite and…”

Nick’s babbling, so Stephen takes the pie dish and lifts the foil cover, inhaling the scent. “It’s lovely,” he says and waggles his eyebrows at Nick: “I hope you brought two forks, Professor Cutter.”

Nick blushes even more.

Nick does end up eating some too, but Stephen has the first bite, Nick insists. It’s a better pie than his grandma ever made. It’s probably the best he’s ever had.

(They don’t manage to finish it though; Connor and Abby come by for a visit and end up doing that for them.)

* * *

**And One – Civil Partnership Cake of Happiness**

* * *

 

They’re tramping back to the cars after a stegosaurus almost trampled a Scout group when Nick stops.

“Nick?” Stephen turns. “Nick, we need to get back and—”

Nick’s on one knee.

“Uhh.”

“Stephen, I, will, you, um. Will y’marry me?”

“Get down.”

“What? Stephen, I—” His face seems to crumple a little, but Stephen’s fast enough that he has time to rush forward and flatten Nick, raising his tranq gun as a juvenile stegosaurus makes its way out from among the trees.

“I can’t believe you didn’t notice that,” Stephen grumbles as he tranquilises it.

“Well,” Nick sits up a little, pushing Stephen away. “I was a little pre-occupied.” There’s a mulish set to his face and leaves in his hair.

Stephen remembers the matter at hand as he leans forward to brush leaves out of Nick’s hair. “Oh, of course I’ll marry you, you idiot.”

“It’ll have to be a civil partnership.” Behind Nick, the stegosaurus staggers and crashes to the ground (not that he notices). “Lester had Helen declared dead; I’m not married to her anymore.”

“You made sure of this?”

“Of course! This matters…you matter.”

Stephen finds himself smiling helplessly as he leans forward to kiss, well, his fiancé.

x-x-x-x-x

They’d wanted only two witnesses, but had then promptly started a fight over whom to pick out of Connor, Abby, Lester and Becker.

They’d ended up inviting all of them, and then some. It looks like almost the whole ARC is stuffed in the registry office, wearing a variety of formal and informal gear. One of the scientists is in their lab-coat, Becker’s in his formal dress uniform and Lester’s in a three-piece suit.

Nick’s dressed in a dark blue suit, a white shirt and a grey tie. He looks good, really good. Stephen would go up to him right now, if not for the fact that he’s being walked down the “aisle” by Lester. And slowly too, because Lester has to keep elbowing people out of the way.

Lester won the who’s-walking-Stephen-down-the-aisle contest by the shear dint of being everyone’s boss. It had already been decided – without Stephen – that he was going to be walked by someone from the door of the office up to Nick and the registrar.

Standing by Nick is Becker, as Nick’s “best man” and waiting for him is Abby, who is Stephen’s “maid of honour”. Connor had to settle for being “page boy”, which involves him dropping a ring in Stephen’s hand with a wink.

Stephen reaches up and slides the ring on Nick’s hand and then Nick slides a ring on Stephen’s hand. They grip each other’s hands desperately, both of them shaking slightly with nerves.

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Connor trying to whisper to Abby and Lester looks like he’s tearing up.

Stephen wouldn’t have it differently for the world.

x-x-x-x-x

It was decided that Stephen would make the cake (now known by everyone – all Connor’s fault – as the “Civil Partnership Cake of Happiness”), considering it was Nick who was chasing people around and yelling at them to turn up (or, in Connor and Abby’s case, to behave).

Nick had raised an eyebrow and said “Are you sure?” with a look that said ‘For breakfast yesterday I ate burnt toast because you forgot it was in the toaster’ but Stephen had managed to persuade him. Nick had cooked so much for him, now it was his turn.

If Stephen said so himself, it had turned out rather well. Admittedly, it had only happened with a panicked call to Jenny (Abby had hung up on him when he’d asked) and quite a few online tutorials.

“Black forest gateaux,” he says in response to Becker asking what ‘it’ was, as he tries to steal himself a slice for him and Nick. He’s half convinced some of the science staff have only come for the cake – they usually hate Nick, who knows how to make a nuisance of himself – and some of them do look kind of feral.

He succeeds in wrangling himself a large slice and two forks and heads over to Nick, who’s leaning against the wall, watching everyone.

“Hello, Mr Hart,” he says to Nick, nudging him towards a table and two chairs. They’d agreed to keep their own names, but both enjoy calling each-other by their own.

“Hello yourself, Mr Cutter,” Nick says, grinning at him. “Look over there,” he says as they sit down, and nods to where the shell-shocked looking registrar (they’d invited her to join in, why not?) is being talked at by Connor, his hands moving in wide enthusiastic circles, with Becker frowning at them both.

“Becker’ll make sure he’s not too over-enthusiastic. Here, Nick.” Stephen elbows him; “Nick,” Stephen picks up a piece of cake and feeds it to him. He watches while Nick chews and swallows. “What do you think? I know it’s probably a bit dry, that oven’s a pain. We really need to get a new one and—”

“Aye, there’s time enough for that, Stephen. We’ve time enough. I think the cake’s perfect.”

It’s not, of course, Nick’s the cook in their couple, but they eat the whole slice and then another one.

They end up sitting next to each-other, Nick’s head on Stephen’s shoulder and Nick holding Stephen’s hand, rubbing his ring, while the people of the ARC, their people, ebb and flow around them.


End file.
